


RWBY Father's Day Snippets

by shockfactor



Category: RWBY
Genre: Absent Parents, Father's Day, Fatherhood, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockfactor/pseuds/shockfactor
Summary: Just an idea I had.Stories involving the various dads of teams RWBY and JNPR, exploring their relationships with their children.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Taiyang Xiao Long: Bouncing Back.

Being a father wasn’t easy. Taiyang had learned that from experience many, many years ago. 

He just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. 

He was still a young man when Yang was born, barely removed from his Beacon days when a little bit too much fooling around with Raven left her pregnant and him with a conundrum. He didn’t doubt his decisions, not one bit—being a father was something he’d always wanted. It was just the timing, the circumstances, the lifestyle he and his wife were leading. It wasn’t conducive to a safe childhood.   
  
But he had to try, and Raven, for all her fears and faults, seemed to believe in them. What they had.   
  
He’d thought that’s what she believed, anyway. Before Yang was even walking, Raven had run out on them.. Yang was too young to understand, had barely known her mother before she was gone. 

Every day, Taiyang was thankful for Qrow. He had no excuses for his sister, no illusions about her actions or reasons. He just stepped up to the plate and helped take care of his niece. So did Summer. They were good teammates, good partners.   
  
Summer ended up becoming more than that. Perhaps it was a bad decision made in the heat of the moment, maybe it was reaching out for the only beacon of light in what felt like a vast sea of darkness, or maybe it was something that should have been all along. Sometimes he leaned towards the latter, especially when she saw how much Yang loved Summer, and vice versa. Between the three of them, and Qrow, they were a family. A _real_ family, with all that entailed. 

By the time Ruby came along, it was a house filled with love and joy, and Summer didn’t run away.   
  
Not intentionally.   
  
It was the risk of their profession. Sometimes, you got beat up. Very rarely, you got beat up badly. In some cases, you got beat so bad that you never got up again. Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe there were far more sinister forces at play. Taiyang didn’t know.   
  
All he knew is that he’d lost the mother of his children. Not child— _children._ Yang was just as much Summer’s as she was Raven’s.   
  
Yang was old enough then to be scared, to be concerned. Ruby wasn’t. It was hard to explain these things, to say that ‘mommy’s gone and she isn’t coming back’, hard to be strong when his daughter was lost and crying in his arms, hard to be a good father when all he felt he could do was scream into pillows and stare out of dimly lit windows looking for the slightest sign of life, a wisp of a white cloak or a few black feathers or the glint of red Branwen eyes.   
  
Qrow saved the day again. He never asked for anything but a drink, watched over the kids when Taiyang didn’t have the strength, and watched over him when he did. Qrow had his own monsters to slay, his own battles to fight, but those took a back seat to Taiyang’s own.   
  
_‘Partners ‘til the end of the line, Tai.’_   
  
Tai didn’t believe him. One day, he would run away too. Such was the way of things in Taiyang Xiao Long’s life.   
  
Both of his girls wanted to be Huntresses, and as terrified as Taiyang was of losing his daughters, of them running off on a mission and never coming back, he never had the heart to tell them no. Yang’s fire burned too brightly, and Ruby’s will was too strong.   
  
He and Qrow taught them the best they could. They were both naturals, born for this life, and that only made Taiyang even more scared. He’d had to work to get where he was, toiled to reach the end of the line, and his children were moving so much faster than he had. It was like watching your life pass you by in fast forward.   
  
They were both enrolled at Beacon before he knew it, on the same team in the same year in spite of Ruby’s young age. They sent word to him almost every day, even if it was just a ‘love you, Dad’, or a heart emoticon, or a couple of words and a ‘take care’.   
  
He still worried.   
  
When he heard about their latest assignment, he worried. When he heard about their run-ins with Grimm, or criminals, or both, he worried. Still, every time, his girls were okay, and he could rest easy.  
  
Then Beacon fell, and it all came crashing down. The worst case scenario.   
  
Ruby’d been delivered to his home unconscious, and Yang was worse off, bloodied, beaten, and missing an arm. One of Ruby’s classmates had been killed, and one of her teammates badly wounded, nowhere to be found. When Ruby woke up, and Qrow explained what happened, and Taiyang had no idea what to do for his baby girl, he felt his heart break.   
  
He tried his best to be a good dad, to be there when she needed to cry, or when she needed to talk. He always felt like he failed, whether he did or not.   
  
Yang was a different story. It was almost like her soul had gone with her arm. Up until Ruby left (against everything Taiyang wanted, but Ruby had too much of her mother in her), she was practically a statue, sitting in bed and looking for something that wasn’t there. She’d inherited that from him, he guessed.   
  
The mechanical arm was a blessing. If he ever met James Ironwood or Pietro Polendina in person, he’d have to thank them. It didn’t fix Yang, but it was a start.   
  
In the now, Yang sat on a tree stump in the backyard, adjusting her arm as a light bruise slowly faded from her face, trained and honed Aura doing its work. She wasn’t quite used to the new arm yet, not quite her old, boisterous brawling self.   
  
Taiyang cracked worn, weary knuckles and rubbed his weathered, callous hands together as he watched her focus on the arm, frustration knitting her brow. He wished there was more he could do, that he could somehow solve all of her problems in an instant, to be the superhuman figure that every little girl believes their father to be.   
  
But Taiyang wasn’t superhuman. Not even close. His daughter was struggling, he was struggling, and he wasn’t sure what he could do, if anything. So, he did what he knew best. He gritted his teeth, bit down on the figurative mouthpiece, and got to work.   
  
Taiyang pushed himself off the fence he’d been leaning on just as Yang rose to her feet, shaking out her mechanical arm.   
  
“You ready?” he asked.   
  
Yang slowly rolled her neck and shoulders, before punching her cybernetic fist into her flesh-and-blood palm.   
  
“Let’s do it,” she replied, with the slightest quirk of her lip, and Taiyang knew that even if everything else was going wrong, he was at least doing _this_ right.   
  



	2. Jacques Schnee: In Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacques has more important things to worry about than being loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, but it was far more fun to write for me, since we're given so little about exactly HOW Jacques views his family and runs his business other than just 'he's mean and doesn't like his kids'

Jacques Schnee was angry. That seemed to be the story of his life nowadays. 

His youngest daughter had returned to him, after an ill-advised dalliance to Beacon Academy that still vexed him to this day. She had no business in Vale, cavorting about with children and following that outdated and antiquated tradition, not when she had the SDC to inherit. Hell, at this rate, he might as well just cut her out, as well. Both of his daughters were shaping up to be disappointments.   
  
He’d given them, given _all_ of his children everything. He’d had _nothing_ , had to build and claw his way up from Jacques Gelé to the owner of the Schnee Dust Company, and in return, his daughters spited him. Ungrateful wretches, the both of them. They’d wanted for nothing, and they still wanted more.   
  
He’d expected too much of them. Winter was unable to do much of anything for that damned Beacon Academy, and Weiss had barely managed to beat a single Grimm without getting that hideous scar. Aside from Whitley, his children were abject failures, and at any moment, Whitley could join them. It took a lot to keep that boy in line, but in line he stayed. 

Whatever. He had almost everything in the palm of his hand now. Weiss was returned to him, and the example he’d set had seemingly removed any brash thoughts from Whitley’s mind. Fear of another Beacon ‘tragedy’ led to SDC sales unprecedented in recent memory, and the public opinion against the White Fang in Atlas meant that those pesky activists weren’t nearly as loud as they used to be. Overall, a great time to be in business. 

Jacques idly sipped at the glass of chenin blanc, the light sting of the lithe, acrid blend keeping him just awake enough to focus on the next business report. It was quite embarrassing to admit, but he was starting to find all these increasing profit margins _boring_. It wasn’t even a challenge to get that extra .3 percent out of that lazy brood of subhumans in the mines, they were practically handing him money hand over fist. 

“Mr. Schnee, sir?” called one of the butlers from outside his office. 

“Come in.”   
  
The butler stepped inside, a wiry man with icy eyes and thick, well-groomed brown hair. Palatine Snowe was his name, if Jacques recalled, one of actual humans on staff. Jacques liked him. He was obedient, efficient, and above all, trustworthy. He wasn’t one for gossip or conniving, but he also wasn't one to disrespect Jacques. The perfect combination. 

“It’s about the preparations for the benefit, sir,” Palatine stated, pulling a PDA from his vest. “Is this a bad time to discuss the alterations you requested?”   
  
“Not at all, Palatine. Speak.”   
  
“Well, we’re not the only company holding a benefit. Councilman Madder is holding a charity ball with thirty percent of the proceeds going to the reconstruction of Beacon Academy. Ten percent more than our initial plans. Since the announcement, stock in Atlesian Electric has gone up by thirty-five percent and appears to be on an upward trajectory. Considering that this is a bear market, this is very much unprecedented. It’s becoming apparent that the public’s goodwill is imperative to profit margins, now moreso than ever. I have an idea on how to close the gap and perhaps make a bit of a show of things, if I may be so bold?”   
  
That was what Jacques liked to hear. Solutions. He smiled at the young man, raising his glass. “Go on.”   
  
“We could simply raise the benefits percentage, considering that we have not announced it yet, or we could lie, but with our profits being so far ahead of estimates due to safety concerns in the wake of the Beacon incident, I believe we can afford to make an investment. My suggestion is that we match our gate revenue in donations to both the Beacon reconstruction fund and the medical and funerary cost for Atlesian service members present at the Beacon incident. Playing both the sympathetic heartstrings and those in the upper crust who are a bit more… isolationist.”

Jacques chuckled. “What a splendid idea. See it done.”   
  
“Of course, sir. Do you need anything?”   
  
Jacques paused, looking about his desk. His eyes briefly crossed the photo of his family, in better days where everything was in order, and all of his children understood the pecking order.   
  
Those days were long gone.   
  
“More wine, if you would, Palatine. And perhaps some hors d'oeuvres, if the kitchen can be bothered at this hour.”  
  
"Of course, sir." With that, Palatine left, and Jacques was alone again. Nothing but time to think, to plan, and to fret over yet another quarterly report.   
  
His eyes drifted back to the picture of his family.   
  
Setting down his glass, he reached over, and turned it to face the door. 


	3. Ghira Belladona: Kitten's Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody said that being a father was going to be easy, but Ghira Belladonna hadn't signed on for an easy life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus far this is turning out to be my favorite chapter to write- which is interesting, considering I already had two chapters I was more excited about. I guess best parents bring out the best in me.

Ghira did not believe in 'accidents' when it came to children. In his eyes, to call your child an 'accident' was to imply that they weren't wanted, that you didn't give them the fullest breadth of your paternal love, and for him, that was sacrilege.   
  
With that being said, he hadn't intended on having Blake when he did. Things had just... _happened._ He was young, Kali was young, they were both frustrated with the way of the world, desperately struggling for change, and as many young men and women were at their age, hormonal as all hell. By the time Blake was born Ghira was already ascending the ranks of the White Fang's leadership, with some help from ever-stalwart young Sienna, of course. Back when she still had her standards.   
  
Ghira had been afraid to bring a Faunus child into Remnant at the current time. It wasn't safe to be one of them, not now, otherwise Ghira wouldn't be fighting tooth and claw to make it so, and yet, here he was with a little daughter, bright-eyed and blissfully unaware of the nature of the world around her and what it was willing to do to her.  
  
So he redoubled his efforts. While Kali rested and recovered from the rigors of childbirth at home, Ghira recruited, raised, raided, and protested until his lungs burned, until his chest heaved, and until his arms shook so severely that he could barely hold his newborn daughter when he eventually returned home. It was worth every minute of it, to ensure that his daughter would grow up in a world where men like him would be unnecessary, where the White Fang would be unnecessary.   
  
It wasn't meant to be. Menagerie was the safest place possible to raise her, but he could only protect his daughter from the life he and his wife led for so long. Doting and caring for her and meeting her every need could only fulfill her so much. Blake had her father's heart and her mother's fire, and as soon as she was old enough to pick up a sign, she marched with them. It gave some among their adversaries pause, seeing a child holding a sign and protesting against injustice. Others, it only emboldened them to vile, evil action. Were it not for Sienna, Tukson, and some of the others, Ghira would have run himself ragged just trying to protect her at every hour of the day, but at the very least, he wasn't alone.   
  
His unintended blessing proved to be more and more of one every day. When they weren't out afield, doing the good work, she was in his study, reading whatever books caught her fancy, then excitedly babbling on to him and Kali about whatever it was she had read. Ghira wasn't much of a reader, he was often so busy that the time to pick up a book was only available in his bed. Still, he humored her, and there was something about her enthusiasm that re-invigorated him, made him want to fight that much harder for a future where his daughter could be truly free.  
  
As she grew into a young woman, she went further into the movement... against Ghira's better judgement. By that point, some in the White Fang were starting to tend to more extreme action- something that Ghira couldn't abide. There were reasons to be angry, to riot, but in most of the Kingdoms there was finally positive motion, _reform_ , and to lash out violently would destroy what good will he'd managed to curry. It troubled him deeply, especially considering the circumstances around...  
  
Adam.  
  
There had always been something wrong with that boy.  
  
He was idealistic, once, when Ghira had first met him. Ready to fight for the cause, die for it if Ghira had asked him to, as if he ever would. Blake thought the world of him, viewed him like an older brother... at least, that was how it looked to him. One day, when the convoy Ghira had been leading came under attack, Adam had killed a man to protect him. It was... ugly. Not a good way to die. The attackers fled, cursing them, and Sienna had been there for him, but oh, Ghira had been afraid that day.   
  
He was afraid today, too. Today, as he had many other days, he paced the floor of his study, doing his level best to keep his breath steady, to keep his mind from wandering to the worst case scenario again.   
  
Blake had gone to Beacon to try and step away from the rapidly-changing White Fang. Sienna had succeeded him as High Leader, and had taken the Fang on the first steps down a dark path, one that Ghira could no longer follow. It was good to see that his daughter had her conscience, but he worried for her, nonetheless. Being a Huntress was no less dangerous than being an activist.   
  
She'd excelled. He received word on her progress from Tukson for most of her early time at the Academy, until one day Tukson stopped sending word. As it happened, he'd died. That only made Ghira worry more.  
  
And now Beacon had been attacked by Grimm, with rumors of outside involvement from other factions besides, and Blake had sent no word. She had left the White Fang to preserve life, to institute change through positive action, and she may well have lost her life in the process. Kali worried too, in her own way, but Ghira could do nothing more than pace the floors and pray, _fervently_ pray that his darling girl had not been taken from him so young.   
  
When she was born, those seventeen years ago, Ghira had made a promise as he wrapped his broad arms around his child, so small and fragile in her earliest moments, tufts of black hair and wet cat's ears and the cries of new life ripped from the womb. He had promised that her lifetime, she would see a world where Man and Faunus walked as not only equals, but as brothers and sisters. Where she could bare her head to the outside world with no fear of hatred or shame, that she could live a life she chose, pursue the life she desired, and grasp whatever dreams she dreamt with two determined hands.   
  
Ghira prayed that she would, now, more fervently than ever, that his daughter would live to see that day. Were he not the Chieftain of Menagerie, he would have been on the boat to Beacon weeks ago. 


	4. Laiton Arc: Like Father...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laiton Arc had wanted any other life for his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the chapters I was most excited to write. 
> 
> First of all, I have a running theme for these fics that they're all set around the time of the Fall, but I haven't been specifying WHEN they're happening, and I should probably start notating that, so...
> 
> Taiyang and Ghira's chapters: About the same time as Volume 4, Episode 3  
> This chapter: During the 9 month (?) skip between Volumes 3 and 4, probably at the front end of that.
> 
> Names and shit!
> 
> Laiton: French for 'brass', an alloy used in metalwork with a golden finish, most commonly used in bullets, tools, and musical instruments.  
> Aspen: A type of tree know for its white wood and the relative flexibility of its bark.  
> Laiton's Semblance is 'Flashbang', which makes his Aura extremely volatile and reactive, creating explosions of light and sound when he claps or strikes his body. It's extremely taxing on his Aura pool, though, which led to the incident that cost Laiton his leg.

_Son,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well. Your mother and I have seen the news about Beacon Academy, but we've gotten no word about your safety. ~~I never wanted you at that damn school~~._

* * *

_  
  
_Laiton Arc was a calm man, most of the time, 'gentle', as most would call him. He was not gentle when he rent his barely-written letter in two, and started over.

Was his boy even alive to get this letter? He didn't know. The part of him that was still a huntsman, the part that bemoaned his prosthetic leg and looked longingly at the photos on his wall of his Beacon team, said that there was no way that bumbling, innocent Jaune could have survived this, even with his talented team. He seemed to do well as a leader, especially in the Vytal Festival, but he still wasn't a warrior. Not like Laiton had been, and not like old Oro before him.  
  
But that wasn't his fault. Brothers, no, Laiton wasn't mad at his son, he wasn't even disappointed. Well, not in his performance as a Huntsman. _Fuck_ , he wasn't even SUPPOSED to be a Huntsman, none of his children were. 'The Arc line' Laiton's aching arse, the Arc line could go take a swan dive off of the cliffs. His family was more important to him than any name. He'd had to bury his father before his eldest was even born, Oro Arc didn't even get to _see_ his grandchildren because of the life he led, the life Laiton and his brothers had followed him into like lemmings. Braz and Gris had both died far younger than Laiton would have wanted, and Gris' children only knew their father now from stories other Huntsmen told them.  
  
That would not be Laiton Arc's story, he'd assured himself, and that would not be his children's story, and then one day his Aura failed him and he couldn't Flashbang his way out of having his leg torn off by an Ursa Major. He'd had to hang up Crocea Mors for good. Well, he didn't _have to,_ really, but by then, he had three beautiful girls and another on the way, and Aspen seemed damn well ready to leave with them if he hobbled back out afield on his bum leg.   
  
Some of his girls had wanted to be Huntresses, Azur especially. Laiton had always insisted that they never follow in his wake. Azur did anyway, but at least she didn't take Crocea Mors. That had been the compromise. She was safe, as far as Laiton knew. She'd last checked in right after the Fall, and said she'd keep an eye out for Jaune. 

No word.

* * *

_Son,_

_I hope this letter finds you and your teammates well. Your mother and I have seen the news about Beacon Academy, but we've gotten no word about your safety. We've been worried sick about you ever since you left home, and now we're in the worst case scenario. We just want to know that you're okay. ~~Why couldn't you have just fucking talked to me?~~_

* * *

Another letter thrown in the trash.  
  
Jaune had been an odd boy. Not in a bad way.   
  
Jaune wasn't like most other boys. He was shy, introverted, and enjoyed his sister's company more than that of the neighbor boys in their hometown, wearing dresses and playing tea-time and otherwise acting up with them. At first, Laiton had found it odd, uncomfortable, but with time, and a bit of a stiff upper lip from Aspen, he'd come to respect that Jaune's life was his own, even at such a young age, and it was his job to put his son on the right path in that life.   
  
As Jaune had grown, he'd mellowed into an awkward boy, never truly interested in the Huntsman's trade. He was content to eat his Pumpkin Pete's, read his comic books, and occasionally help Laiton in the shop out back, working on Laiton's car or the playhouse he'd wanted to make for when Azur and Yarrow came to visit with their children, or when Saffron's babe was healthy enough to be up and about in the back. Jaune had taken to it with gusto, and a relieved Laiton had figured that maybe the boy was more a carpenter than a warrior. Thank the Brothers for that much.   
  
Then, one day, something had changed. Jaune had dug in a bit to the family history, tired of one tasteless joke too many about his manhood and lineage, and found out just the kind of people Arcs were, and took the wrong message from it all.   
  
Arcs were warriors, he'd said.   
  


* * *

_Dad,_

_I'm headed to Beacon by the time you read this letter. I took Crocea Mors with me._

_Arc men are warriors. You lost your leg fighting to protect people in need, Uncle Gris and Uncle Braz and Grandpa all **died** protecting people, and all I can do is sit on my ass and read comic books and play dress up with my sisters all day.   
  
I'm a disappointment, and you're too scared to tell me, but I figured it out. I'll come back when I've made something out of myself.  
  
Jaune_

* * *

  
He still had that letter in his nightstand.   
  
Had he been cruel to Jaune? Had he said something he wasn't supposed to say? Laiton didn't know, and it hurt him. He'd felt like he failed. Arc men were warriors, yes, but with rare exceptions, Arc men _died young_. Oro was fourty-four when he died. Gris was thirty. Braz was twenty-nine. One of Oro's brothers was only _nineteen_ when he died. 

Laiton didn't get to be forty-two by being an 'Arc man'. He lived to forty-two because he'd found what truly mattered to him. He saw it every day when he looked in his wife's eyes, when he looked at the pictures of all of his children, when he played with them, taught them, nurtured them, held them, loved them.   
  
He still remembered clear as day when it was just him and Jaune in his workshop, hands covered in grease and brows covered in sweat, or out in the yard with splinters in their rawhide gloves the size of toothpicks, knowing that he would never have to worry about if it he'd have to bury his son. That was the moment Laiton Arc felt the most complete, when he knew that he had everything he needed in the palm of his hand.   
  
His boy hadn't even been to _combat school_ , how was he gonna survive Beacon? How would he even _get in_? That was a conversation Jaune and Laiton needed to have when the boy eventually came home, because he was either damn good at lying or even better with technology, and Laiton needed all the help he could get with the latter.  
  
"Honey?" came a voice from outside Laiton's bedroom. Aspen's. She sounded weary. "Do you need anything?"  
  
Laiton let out a shaky exhale, and turned back in his seat. "Come on. I'm okay."   
  
Aspen peeked her head in the door. "I don't want to interrupt you. I just got some news."  
  
Laiton's heart sank. From the tone of her voice, it wasn't good.   
  
"What is it?" he asked.  
  
"They've released the missing persons from the attack on Beacon... one of Jaune's teammates is on the list."   
  
"Is Jaune on it?"   
  
Was it selfish to not care about someone else's kid? Yes. Laiton's heart ached for that poor family, not knowing if their child was alive or dead, but they weren't his concern, not now. Call him selfish, damn him to hell for his selfishness if the Brothers so pleased, but he _needed his boy home._ The rest of the world could wait until he was good and ready to face it.   
  
"No. He's not on the list of confirmed fatalities, either," Aspen said, the slightest tinge of relief in her voice. "I just thought you might want to know. He's... probably not doin' too well right now."   
  
Laiton sighed. "I can imagine. Has he gotten in touch with you?"   
  
Aspen shook her head. "I'm sorry, hon."   
  
Figures. Even after what was likely a near-death experience, Jaune was an Arc, with all the stubbornness that entailed. He definitely got that from his old man.

He put his pen to paper again.

* * *

_Son,_

_I've tried to write this letter at least three times today, and I've been trying for the past week. Your mother and I are worried sick. I've been messaging you as well, but the CCT isn't working, so I apologize for my chicken-scratch._

_I understand how you feel, why you left home. I understand that you felt that I was disappointed in you. Jaune, nothing could be further from the truth, and I mean **nothing**. I have loved you from the moment you were born, and I have loved you regardless of whatever you chose. I don't know why you feel you need to risk your life to prove something to me, but son, you don't. There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness, and I'm begging you, from someone who walked away far too late, to choose wisdom over folly. I'm glad you're making progress as a Huntsman, I'm **proud** , even. I'm just terrified of what can happen to you, and yes, I know that you can do it , and I want nothing more than what makes you happy, but right now, I'm scared as hell that your mother and I won't see you again. _

_I've heard tell that one of your teammates is missing. I'm so sorry, Jaune, I truly am. I can't imagine what you're dealing with right now, and I can't claim to understand whatever you might be feeling, but you are my son, and I want to help you however I can. Please come home, just let us know that you're okay, and talk to us. You don't have to stay. We just want to see our boy again. You can tell us whatever you feel comfortable telling us, and no more. If your team needs a place to stay, our home is open to them for as long as you need. Hell, bring your other friends, too. The house is awful empty since you and Saffron moved out. Brothers know you kids need to think of anything else but what's happening right now, and y'all need a good night's sleep, a home-cooked meal, and a bit of love and kindness.  
  
If this letter reaches you before my messages do, **please come home.** We miss you.  
  
Love,  
  
Dad.   
  
_

* * *

It was very likely Jaune would never get this letter. With Beacon gone and dozens of facilities caring for the injured or displaced students, there was no telling where he could be.  
  
But Laiton knew people, knew Huntsmen, knew medical personnel. He'd search to the ends of Remnant for his boy if he had to. He'd put his boots on, pick up a plank shield and a stick, and fight that damn Ursa all over again on one good leg for his boy if he had to. He'd crawl through the wreckage of Beacon and beat that damn dragon to death with his metal prosthesis if he had to.   
  
That letter would find Jaune, and Jaune would find his way home, and Laiton would give his son the goodbye he deserved, and the support he needed.  
  
The Brother Gods themselves would have to step down from whatever firmament they ran off to and strike Laiton Arc dead where he stood before he gave up on his boy. Arc's honor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Jaune being from a big, happy hick family and I want to see it more.


End file.
